


Where you belong (Ever at my side)

by noctlis



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Vomiting, hints of Gladio/Ignis, it's only briefly described but be careful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 22:43:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15496344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctlis/pseuds/noctlis
Summary: Noctis has had enough of sitting back and letting things happen, and he'll be damned if he leaves Prompto to that fate.or: Episode Prompto doesn't play out quite how anyone expected.





	Where you belong (Ever at my side)

**Author's Note:**

> This.... I can't believe I actually managed to write it. Holy shit. I made a joking tweet about wanting an au where Noctis went to rescue Prompto probably early July and then decided spur of the moment to actually write it myself the same night and like??? I didn't really think I would make it through the whole thing but I did somehow. I just... both of them deserve happiness and so much love and I liked the scenes in game/dlc but I wanted more you know? So yeah. Couple notes: some of this dialogue is straight from the game and some of it is either modified slightly or changed in context (for example being thought instead of spoken). Also, funny story about the scene I included with Noctis and Aranea: me and my twin remembered a scene very clearly of Noctis starting to say something to Aranea but then saying nevermind, and Aranea promising to keep an eye out for Prompto, but as it turns out, that scene does not exist in game. I have no idea why I remember it being there, but I decided to just go ahead and include it in my fic lol.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this fic! It's the longest fic I've been able to write in over a year so I feel at least a little proud and I'm glad I can share this au with the world. And also feel free to come bother me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/noctlis) where I'm constantly rambling about Promptis and FFXV.  
> Thanks for reading and as always, no critiques or criticisms but comments and kudos are loved~

Noctis steps off the train feeling numb, empty.

A dull throbbing has settled in his head, pressure at the back of his eye sockets blurring his vision at the edges, and his lungs are constricted under his rib cage, the space growing tighter and tighter, slowly suffocating him in all but a physical sense. He barely notices the bite of the chilly air around him as he follows Gladio and Ignis toward the steps of the station, doesn't even fully register his own body moving as he sits down on the concrete and stares at his hands in his lap. There's so much going on his head, a stifling flurry of thoughts, regrets, blame, self deprecation… guilt. It's almost too much, to the point that it turns to white noise and static, incapacitates him mentally and emotionally, melting until it's everything and nothing all at once. He doesn't feel like he's all there, like part of him was left miles behind, disappearing off the top of the train alongside crystal blue eyes, starkly clear as they gazed up at him, wide with panic, with hurt and betrayal as Noctis could do nothing but watch on, hands shaking, unsure if his heart was even beating anymore.

He's hyper aware that this is entirely and unquestionably his fault. He only has himself to blame, as he always has, and he's left with nothing to show for it except the scars underneath his skin, the claw marks on his heart reminding him of his failures. It's just one thing after another. Prophecies, expectations, trials, fight after fight, sacrifices with no reparation… It's undoubtedly enough to break anyone. How is one person supposed to bear this weight on his shoulders alone?

Noctis wonders somewhere in the back of his mind if he deserves anything at all, when he brings nothing but suffering to those around him. Maybe he deserves this. He couldn't protect anyone, in the end.

Not even those he cares most about.

"Well, look who it is."

The familiar voice pulls Noctis out of his head for the moment and he glances back to see a face he recognizes illuminated by the lanterns in the station. Black armor, silver hair tied back, green eyes sparkling mischievously. "Aranea," he says. She grins at him and he resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Guess we've got you to thank for this mess."

Despite his accusation, Aranea's smile doesn't falter. "More to it than meets the eye," she says, shifting on her feet and gesturing for the three of them to follow. "You want to know who to thank? Come with me."

Noctis watches her begin to walk away, unsure of how to react. He meets Gladio's eyes and glances at Ignis, the vague sense of mistrust somewhat dissipating between them, and then they fall into step behind her.

She makes small talk as she leads them down the path away from the station. "What did you do to your eyes?" She asks Ignis. Noctis doesn't miss the way Ignis grimaces ever so slightly, the comforting hand that Gladio presses to the small of Ignis' back, or the twinge in his own chest as Ignis responds quietly, "... Just a flesh wound."

"Can you see?" Another twinge, more pronounced.

"I'm.. afraid not." _It's your fault._ Noctis looks away, focuses on their surroundings, on the few magitek ships nearby and the imperial troopers stalking around the area, even into the evening. He wishes he could just stop thinking for a while.

"Wow," Aranea says. "That sucks."

They keep walking, down some stairs and across a narrow path. Gladio hasn't left Ignis' side for an instant, keeps one hand on Ignis' back and the other wrapped around his shoulder. In the distance, Noctis can see more of Tenebrae, the once beautiful scenery marred by signs of war, buildings up in flames, and whispers that the kingdom is finished in the ashes on the wind. He wonders if it really is the end for Luna's homeland.

"Hey, wasn't there one more of you guys?" Aranea asks.

Noctis almost stops in his tracks, heart hammering in his chest like wildfire, but he somehow manages to keep walking, does his best to ignore the ache that spreads outward into his bloodstream like a slow poison. "Yeah… There was." _There is_ , his mind counters. Neither sounds correct, somehow.

"We lost track of him," Gladio fills in when he notices Noctis clam up, and Noctis finds himself more grateful to his friend than he could ever express.

Aranea frowns. "Is he dead?"

The word catches Noctis entirely by surprise. Maybe he should have expected it, should have seen it coming, and yet he didn't even come close. This time he does stop walking as it lingers heavy in the air and clings to him relentlessly like a thick fog. Dead. It's possible, he realizes. Anything is at this point. He could be dead and Noctis wouldn't know. Might never know.

An image of a body flits through Noctis' mind, face down in the snow, lifeless limbs pale and unmoving, soon to be swallowed beneath a blizzard of white. All alone, because of Noctis. It makes him nauseous, twists his insides into knots and makes him feel like his words are catching in his throat and choking him when he opens his mouth to speak.

"I-I don't know…" He hears himself say.

He doesn't notice that everyone else has also stopped walking until he feels Ignis' hand gripping his arm, fingers pressing into his skin, something steadying where Noctis had been about to lose himself. All eyes are on him but Noctis has no more words, even as Ignis keeps him grounded.

Aranea's expression shifts ever so slightly as she looks between Noctis and Gladio, and then Ignis, a seriousness finding its way into her features. Maybe she can see right through him already, knows that he's barely holding it together beneath a paper thin mask. And then she's moving again. "Quit moping, keep hoping," she says simply. Despite her brash nature, Noctis thinks she might be trying to comfort him, and he allows himself some solace in that as Ignis and Gladio pull him forward, as he finally finds the strength to keep walking.

Aranea leads them to a pair of train engineers as she tells them how she and her men no longer work for the empire, promises they'll keep the other train passengers safe, and offers the service of Biggs and Wedge to assist Noctis in reaching the Glacian. Noctis speaks with the two engineers, as well, and they direct him to an elderly woman who used to serve House Fleuret, who he finds past all the troopers, quietly sitting by herself, surrounded by flowers as she stares out at the ruins of Tenebrae.

And Noctis once again feels like he's not all there. It's like he's watching himself talk to Maria from somewhere else, floating and distant, unable to fully process anything around him. When he leaves her and follows the path back toward the station, he knows the retainer told him that Ravus seeks to return his father's glaive to him but he doesn't remember quite what she said, as if he had heard her tale some years ago and not just mere moments.

He's back on top of the train, somewhere in his mind, only partially in the present as his feet carry him forward. Staring over the edge in shock and dismay. Noctis wonders if those blue eyes could have seen themselves reflected in his own eyes, or if the moment was over before Noctis could even begin to show how much he never would have wanted this to happen. How much he should have worked harder to prevent this. A split second and he was gone and even now, Noctis can't help the thought that perhaps he's never coming back.

He almost misses Aranea as he walks by but she sidles her way into his view and waves at him to get his attention. "Hey," she says. Her tone is casual but there's something in it that Noctis can't place, something that's impossible to read.

"Hey," he responds, half an attempt at a smile forming on his lips. It immediately feels wrong and he lets it slip away as quickly as he had forced it. A glance around reveals the absence of Ignis and Gladio but Aranea answers his question before he can voice it.

"If you're wondering about your friends, they went to rest in the dining car. The big guy was worried about Specs, I think. Said something about a good meal and some sleep before setting out."

Noctis should have guessed as much. Leave it to Gladio to remain ever attentive to Ignis' needs, while Noctis is so lost in his own head he can barely function, forgets something as simple as checking in on his friends. "I see... Thanks for letting me know."

"No problem," Aranea says with a nod. "It sounds like you guys have been through a lot lately. You should get as much rest as possible while you still can."

"Yeah…" Noctis thinks about sleep, thinks about how every time he's laid down and closed his eyes the last few days, the scene just plays over and over in his head, the guilt overpowering as he considers each mistake that led up to the inevitable. He lies awake until the sun rises, and pretends to have just woken when Gladio comes to get him up.

There's a pause before Aranea says, "They're worried about you, too, you know."

"... I know." Noctis tries and fails to ignore the feeling in his chest, heavy and smothering, like the air can't make it into his lungs anymore. "Seems like the only thing I'm good at is causing problems for the people who care about me." He hadn't meant to say the second part out loud but he's not even sure he cares as he stares blankly at the night sky.

"They don't think of it that way."

Noctis knows deep down that she's probably right, but it doesn't dull the pain at all, just makes him give a wry laugh. The stars seem lackluster tonight, muted in the darkness. "How much did they tell you?"

"Enough," Aranea says, quietly, sharply. "Enough to know you're blaming yourself when you shouldn't be."

She means well, he thinks. _Maybe you should listen to her._ "You don't know anything," Noctis says instead. It's not what he meant and it comes out harsh, too harsh, biting and cruel in the face of kindness he doesn't deserve. Noctis feels off, like he's someone else and not himself.

"I know enough to see that you're not alright," she counters, undeterred.

"I'm fine," he says. _No, you're not._

"You're worried about Prompto, aren't you." A statement, not a question. The name is like a kick to the gut and it leaves Noctis winded and breathless. He had been subconsciously avoiding it, as if leaving the name out would somehow lessen the weight of his actions, as if he could somehow distance himself from what he had done to his best friend by forming a disconnect between the event and the victim. But he's truly incapable of running from anything, it seems.

"Yeah," he says finally, voice just above a whisper. "Who wouldn't be worried, considering what happened to him." _What you did to him._

Aranea narrows her eyes. "Look, kid," she says pointedly. "Prompto is a strong guy. I bet whatever he's going through right now, he's probably still more worried about you guys."

Noctis falls quiet. No matter how hard he thinks about it, he can't even begin to imagine what Prompto might be going through and it just makes him all the more frustrated. And it's even more frustrating that he knows Aranea's most likely right. That's the kind of person Prompto is… Always so caring, selfless almost to a fault. He half wishes he could have been the one pushed off the train instead, but of course, that wouldn't have solved anything.

Aranea sighs. She reaches out a hand as if she intends to pat Noctis' shoulder but then decides better of it and tugs at the locks of hair framing her face. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, have faith, alright? Don't go giving up before you've fought to the bitter end."

The end… What is the end in this case? He has no idea.

"Thanks. I guess," he says. He watches Aranea's expression soften.

"Sorry to stick my nose in your business," she laughs sheepishly. "It's the whole search and rescue thing, I think, but for some reason it's hard to leave you kids alone."

Search and rescue… Noctis remembers her mentioning that earlier, when she was talking about leaving the service of the empire while they made their way over to the engineers. She had said she works to help civilians in need and offers her skills for combat and protection, rather than continuing on as a mercenary. Search and rescue…

He supposes it wouldn't be impossible.

"Aranea," he says abruptly, and then he stops, swirling mass of ifs and buts clouding his thoughts. Half of him pushes him to keep talking while the other half reminds him he's powerless, and she is too. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what to do. She blinks at him and his gaze drops to the ground. "Nevermind," he says instead. He doesn't mean it.

Aranea raises an eyebrow at him, though an understanding smile pulls on her lips. "C'mon," she says. "I'll keep an eye out for Prompto, but for now," she waves him off, pointing back toward the station, "You better not keep your friends waiting. You should get going and get some rest before you leave tomorrow."

Noctis nods slowly, but his feet are sluggish as he tries to turn around, to keep walking, suddenly leaden as they hold him to the spot. This isn't right, a voice says in the back of his head. _You know this isn't right._ Noctis shakes himself, his brain rattling in his skull. If this isn't right, then what is? Underneath the responsibilities, buried beneath the whole world that tells him he just has to keep moving forward as the king of kings, as the one chosen by the gods, there's something missing. Something so palpable that Noctis feels like he can't breathe under the weight of what he doesn't know, can't understand. What is he supposed to do?

Something flashes before his eyes, something meaningful, dragged up to the forefront of his mind in waves.

Noctis sees Luna, blood staining her white dress as Ardyn towers over her, her eyes determined despite knowing these are her last moments. He feels her fleeting warmth as she crawled over to him, pressed the ring into his hands and prayed for his safety even as her own life faded. He sees Ignis, face coated in scars, the price paid for something he never deserved. Eyes unseeing, cane in his hands, his advisor somehow still presses on after everything he's lost. After sacrificing himself for Noctis. And Noctis sees his father standing tall, with pride, without regrets, as he sends his son away knowing full well he will never see him again. To the bitter end, his father only ever wanted Noctis to be happy. Luna, and Ignis, too.

And then Noctis sees Prompto. Smile like the sun, always there for him, with a gentle kindness that always keeps Noctis grounded, keeps him standing even when everything else threatens to knock him down. Prompto, who always saw him for who he really was, looked past formalities, past titles, past uncertainties and doubts. Prompto, who is somewhere in the world right now at Ardyn's mercy, all because Noctis was too blind to see the truth.

Noctis clenches his fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms, so tight they almost draw blood. It's too much, he thinks.

He's had enough.

And just like that, he realizes he knows what he needs to do. Like a dam has broken inside him, released all the fear, the tension, the anxieties, it floods out of him and he turns back around to Aranea with a renewed sense of hope that he hasn't felt in as long as he can remember. "No," he says first without thinking, and then, "No, I won't get on that train." He means it, more than he's ever meant anything in his life. "I'm not leaving until I find him."

Aranea blinks at him for a few seconds- and then she's grinning, wide and genuine. "Now that's more like it. I'm so here for a guy who knows what he wants."

Noctis finds himself smiling back, even just a little.

It takes a surprisingly small amount of convincing for Ignis and Gladio to agree to let Noctis leave with Aranea. Noctis isn't exactly sure what he was expecting when he entered the dining car to discuss matters with them, but it definitely wasn't Ignis interrupting him mid-proposal to say, "Do what you must."

"Wh…" Noctis stutters ungracefully. Ignis comes close to smiling. "You really… You're just going to let me go? Just like that?" It's not that he wants to argue, he doesn't, but he's baffled and doesn't really understand, can't even remember the last time Ignis actually agreed to let Noctis do what he wanted in any situation. And especially considering the circumstances, he had been half certain he was heading right into a point blank refusal.

"He's right, y'know," Gladio says, shaking his head in amusement as he brushes his fingers through the ends of Ignis' hair at the base of his neck. "This is the first time you've really taken things into your own hands, Noct. And it's kinda refreshing, to be honest." _Take things into your own hands._ The words echo in Noctis' head, vibrant and powerful.

"Indeed," Ignis hums softly. "It's your conviction, Noct. The air has changed around you. Until now, you seemed so small and hopeless, but I sense something deeper now, something fierce and passionate. I quite like it, I must say. I trust that you will return to us with Prompto before we've even noticed your absence."

Noctis feels a sting in the corners of his eyes as he looks between Ignis and Gladio, unbridled affection bubbling up in his chest unbidden, and after a brief pause, after Noctis swallows hard and collects himself, he gives them a firm nod. "I will," he says, and even he can feel the strength in his words, warm as it cascades through his body, melts the ice that had so adamantly lingered before. "I'm done sitting back and letting things happen. I'm going to protect everyone from now on, with everything I have… and I'm going to save him."

Gladio breaks into a glowing smile. "Spoken like a true king."

And Noctis smiles back, a real smile, one that seems to catch Gladio wholly by surprise, if the widening of his eyes and his small gasp are anything to go by. He feels it spread across his lips, warm and true, and it doesn't feel wrong, he doesn't have to force it; it's natural. It feels right. This really is what he's meant to do.

He owes Ignis and Gladio big time when he gets back with Prompto. He hears Gladio whispering to Ignis as he makes his way out of the car.

"Noct just smiled, Iggy. He really smiled," Gladio says, still in shock, and Ignis chuckles gently.

"I can imagine such a blessed sight."

Noctis leaves the dining car to find Aranea hovering outside, curiosity twinkling in her eyes. "So?"

He nods. "It's on."

"Great!" Aranea immediately claps Noctis on the shoulder, hard enough to send him stumbling forward. She doesn't even seem to realize she's done it as she gestures for him to follow her and Noctis thinks he doesn't really mind, at least for now. "I have a good idea on where we'll find Blondie," she says straight away, excitement seeping into her tone.

"Really?" Noctis eagerly trails behind her. She leads him into one of the magitek ships and over to a map she has sprawled out over a large table in the center, as well as an assortment of sheets with diagrams and information that Noctis can't even begin to parse. Aranea moves around to the front of the map and draws a finger from their current location into a vast region of snow and mountains, no landmarks or names indicating what might occupy the open space.

"I've heard rumors about these parts," she explains, pulling one of the diagrams that shows plans for some kind of structure that Noctis has never seen before. "Supposedly there's a facility hidden somewhere in the snow, a magitek production facility. When I worked with the empire, I caught wind of it from a conversation between the Chancellor and that wack job scientist, Besithia. If Prompto was taken, he's got to be there, at that facility."

Noctis' heart pounds in his chest, a steady rhythm, branching out from his chest into his fingertips, radiating with ambition as he examines the papers more thoroughly. In between the lines, he sees Prompto, this time alone and scared, surrounded by cold metal, machinery and magitek troopers, and yet… This time, it doesn't fill him with dread, with overwhelming guilt. This time, he feels the fire ignite, feels it building inside him, erasing every last doubt and worry. This is really happening.

"It won't just be a simple search and rescue op, though." Aranea pulls up another sheet, though Noctis notes that it has far less information on it and no images. Written on it are bits and pieces of conversations, circled and tied together, and a name in big letters underlined several times. _Immortalis_ , it reads. "Apparently, they're constructing some kind of new model at this facility, something they're saying will be strong enough to challenge even the Gods."

Noctis narrows his eyes, smirks ever so slightly despite himself. "That doesn't sound like something we can ignore."

"I was hoping you would say that," Aranea says, relief shown in the way her shoulders relax. "It will be tough, for sure. We'll need to infiltrate the premises, find Blondie, then discover where they're keeping the new model so we can destroy it. It's most likely going to take everything we have and more. Are you-"

"-'sure about this?'" Noctis finishes for her, the flames in chest growing stronger, determination burning brighter than anything he's felt in weeks. And finally, for the first time since this all started, Noctis is completely here in the present, looking toward the future. He's not going to hesitate any longer. "You don't even have to ask."

Aranea beams at him. "That's what I wanted to hear," she says. "We leave first thing in the morning."

 

\---

 

Prompto awakens slowly, drifting into consciousness from a world of swirling black.

His head is throbbing and full of fog as his eyes blink carefully open, begin to take in the unfamiliar room around him. His first thought is one of surprise, because he had been almost certain that he had died, but then he loses any other coherent thoughts as he shifts and the pain in his head intensifies. The lighting in the room is dull and yet it feels too bright somehow, a stark contrast to the darkness he had been swallowed by until only moments before, and he has to squint while he gazes around himself, the pressure at the back of his eyes unrelenting and fierce. Despite the ache in his limbs, despite the way his chest constricts as he tries to take a deep breath to steady himself, he does his best to survey his surroundings and he pushes himself up off the hard flooring. The room is uninviting, bleak, strange machinery covering the back walls, and it appear to be a place for some sort of research, if the papers littered along tabletops and counters, scattered on the floor are anything to go by. In front of him, large test tube-like structures frame a door with some kind of lock system, judging by the panel beside it.

Nothing about the room seems even vaguely recognizable and Prompto feels a sense of panic forming in his gut, a strong twinge he can barely quell as he gets to his feet. "Wh…what is this place…?" He whispers.

His memory is hazy as he attempts to recall how he got here. He remembers cold, overpowering, immobilizing cold, nothing but white as far as he could see. He remembers the numbness, the loss of feeling in his limbs that simultaneously hurt far more than any physical injury he had ever endured. Searing, blistering cold that clung to him, froze over his lungs, coated him in suffocating ice and slowly but surely incapacitated him until the only thing he could do was collapse into it, allow the white to embrace him. What a way to go, he had thought.

The rest comes back to him suddenly, in a flash.

The train. Sharp, indigo eyes, normally full of warmth now as cold as winter, as the person Prompto cares about more than anything in the world pinned him against the wall of the train and told him he hated him. The words buried beneath his skin, sinking into his bones and polluting his bloodstream as he held it all in, tried to make himself believe it wasn't happening. And then to the roof of the train, a chase as Prompto tried to corner the perpetrator, that wicked smile, as if he already knew what was coming. No, he definitely knew.

And then Prompto was falling.

Prompto doesn't realize he's shaking until he glances down at his hands and sees the way they're trembling, tremors wracking his body, though not from the cold. The panic is building, fueled by the hatred he remembers in those eyes, the ease with which he discarded Prompto over the side of the train, sent him sprawling into the dirt, breath knocked from him in one fell swoop. Lies, he tells himself, heart pounding erratically like a drum against his ribcage. _It's all lies._

"It's gone…" Prompto stares at his wrist once he notices, at the barcode tattooed on his skin, dark and disconcerting, wondering where his wrist band went. He hates looking at the mark, hates the sense of unease it fills him with and he forces himself to look away, instead focusing on his surroundings again.

He makes his way around, shuffling through papers and listening to a tape recording he finds on a counter against the left wall. It's a research log narrated by a sinister voice, that talks of daemons, infantry, and tests. Prompto feels an overpowering sense of dread when he hears that voice and he doesn't know why, so he tries not to think too hard about it as he makes his way toward the door. It seems to be the only way in and out, and it's locked. Prompto looks between the door itself and the panel beside it, a complicated looking screen that he can barely understand, and he lifts his hand toward it without thinking. Maybe if he presses on the screen-

Abruptly, the device scans Prompto's wrist. The panic flares again, followed by a keen recognition when he sees the barcode on his wrist glowing.

"Scanning production code," an automated voice echoes out over a loudspeaker. "Unit 05953234 confirmed." Production code? Unit..? Prompto feels like he's going to be sick. "Warning: this unit has been compromised. Initiating retrieval of compromised unit."

Prompto is shaking again as he stumbles back, unable to even begin to comprehend the implication of what he's just heard. And then his blood runs cold when a new voice sounds behind him, familiar and horrible.

"She still remembers you, after all these years."

"You…!" Prompto whirls around, prepares to whip out his gun in the face of the man who brought all of this upon him, but nothing materializes in his hands, no matter how hard he tries. The panic is now turning into hysteria.

Ardyn smirks at him, delight dancing across his features as he waves around a pistol, clearly taunting Prompto as he advances toward him. "We can't have you spilling blood here," he says, tone maliciously playful. Prompto backs away despite knowing he has nowhere to go. Ardyn's smirk widens. "Although to most this facility is known only as the First Magitek Production Facility… to you, this place should have some sentimental value. After all, it is your home sweet home."

There it is again. Something feels like it's crawling its way up Prompto's throat, lodging there as the nausea grows, as his stomach churns and his mind whirlwinds his thoughts into a frenzy. "Shut up," he whispers.

Ardyn's face morphs with a twisted mirth. "I'm not the one who almost killed you," he says.

Dark eyes, blazing at him as he plummeted off the train. Echoes in his ears of contempt, something so foreign until that moment. _Betrayal._ It's not true. _He hates you._ He can't… _Ardyn is right_. Prompto is barely breathing now, breaths coming in short gasps as he glares at Ardyn with all the strength he can muster. "You're wro-"

His voice cracks and he doesn't finish his sentence as Ardyn shoves the gun against his chest.

"You really ought to take a rest," he says, and he's laughing without actually laughing, walking backward as Prompto somehow finds a grip on the gun. "Perhaps the estimable Chief Besithia will help heal that broken heart of yours. If you don't remember him now, a reunion will certainly refresh your memory."

A million and one questions and retorts die on Prompto's tongue, not a single one making it out of his mouth before he aims the gun in front of himself only to realize that Ardyn is already gone.

 _Broken heart_ , Ardyn had said. Like he knows just how deep the cut really goes, just how much Prompto feels like he's drowning, all the oxygen in his lungs left behind on the train with the person that he... _That doesn't matter anymore._ Prompto feels a sting at the corners of his eyes, pressure he can barely hold back, and his body sways, his knees almost giving out under him. He doesn't know how he manages to keep on his feet, or how he finds it in himself to turn back to face the door. Chief Besithia… He swallows hard, takes a deep shuddering breath. "I'll find him…" He says. The words hover heavy in the air and then disappear as Prompto finally moves, slips the gun into the holster on his chest and then leaves through the door.

The facility is large and maze like, corridors full of guns that Prompto makes use of, and MTs that Prompto deals with as best as he can while he maneuvers his way through. It's tougher than he ever would have thought it would be, fighting by himself. He was never really a fighter, not until… Not until he thought he had found his home, not until he was a part of a close knit group that did everything together and always had each other's backs. And he finds that alone, it's even more obvious. The slip ups, pointless mistakes, the hits he takes that could have been avoided if he had backup, and the chaos of the battles that constantly comes close to overwhelming him... But all things considered, he's managed thus far without dying and somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders if they would be proud of him.

He finds more recordings and more papers, and it's like there are puzzle pieces in his head, starting to fit together the more he learns. The tests, the barcodes, the truth about the MTs… The truth about himself buried somewhere underneath it all, and the closer he gets, the more he wishes he didn't know, the more he wants to just forget.

"I've just gotta find my way out…" Prompto tells himself. Somehow, he finds no comfort in the sentiment as he scans his wrist in front of a sealed door and watches as it slides open, just as he expected. The self-loathing bubbles up and manifests in an almost physical pain that nearly consumes him as he forces out a hollow laugh. "... Lucky me," he mutters.

It's the rows of test tubes filled with bodies he discovers in the next room that really does it for him. Especially the ones on the left with faces so familiar it's like he's looking into a mirror, like he looked into his own heart and dug out the distorted shadows of himself that always lurked away from prying eyes. A question hangs in the back of his mind, _What am I?_ but deep down he knows the answer. The lump flies back up into his throat and despite having eaten nothing for several days, Prompto's stomach still vies for something to reject. He ends up on his knees on the ground, dry heaving and vaguely hoping he dies here and no one ever unearths his body.

Once he's able to walk again, he makes his way up the stairs against the back wall maneuvering around counters and strange control panels as he goes, and then immediately his heart lurches in his chest. Half the opposite wall is made of glass and Prompto can see into a room past it, full of more test tubes around a large machine, where Ardyn stands with someone Prompto doesn't recognize. It's not hard to guess the identity of the other man as he crouches down, creeps up to the glass and peers through. "Deep breaths…" He tries to tell himself. It doesn't help.

Ardyn is the first to speak. "My friend, do you recall the child who was stolen from this facility?"

"The one those Lucians absconded with?" The other man responds without turning to face Ardyn. His voice is low and poisonous, corrupt darkness seeping out of his words. Prompto's heartbeat reverberates around in his skull as if the cavity were empty.

"Precisely," Ardyn preens as he paces around. "I thought you might like to see the fine young man he's become these twenty odd years later." Prompto wants to scream, to tears himself away and escape somehow, but he's rooted to the spot. "So as thanks for bringing your pets to Insomnia, I've brought the boy to you."

Abruptly, with a sickening flourish, Ardyn turns and raises his hand toward where Prompto hides, a grin already forming on his lips. Of course he would know all along that Prompto was there. Prompto swallows but his throat is rough, stinging and constricting as if he swallowed acid and not his own saliva. This time when Ardyn speaks, he's addressing Prompto directly. "The time has come to meet your maker. Any questions for daddy dearest?" Prompto is shaking once more, so hard his vision starts to blur. "Father and son," Ardyn adds, and again, he's laughing without laughing, his tone so wholly full of malice it makes Prompto feel like he's going to be sick again. "Oh, how I love bringing families together."

Ardyn is already gone as Prompto stumbles back up. "No… It's not true. You're wrong, dammit!" Prompto hears the words leave his mouth but he's not even sure he's the one who said them. He feels lucid as he heads for the door across the room, trails down a long hallway and then toward a door which most certainly leads into the room where that man… Where Besithia is waiting for him. "I don't care what he says…" Prompto breathes out. "This place will never be my home." He feels like he's about to shatter as he opens the door.

His gun is already in his hand as he slowly, on trembling legs, enters the room. Besithia stands with his back to Prompto but a cackling sound that resembles laughter stops Prompto in his tracks, turns his blood to liquid ice as he watches the man turn to look at him. His face is only half human, the other half coated in black, skin the color of charcoal, as if his flesh is already dead, and darkness bleeds into his eye socket, dyes his pupil a vivid, monstrous red.

"What's the matter?" Besithia hisses out, manic grin pulling on half his lips. "Have you never seen a man turn before?" He laughs, this time the sound like steam pouring out of old machinery. "If those Lucians hadn't intervened, you could have turned, too."

Prompto almost imagines himself like the man before him, drowning in darkness, in his own rotting flesh, but his mind doesn't make it that far. Prompto feels the bile climbing, building at the back of his throat, feels his stomach twisting, threatening to oust whatever is leftover after earlier, and it distracts him, effectively cutting off the image before it fully forms. He points the gun at Besithia.

"Why me?" He asks quietly.

"Because you were cloned from this genius's genes, born of my own flesh and blood. You are but one of millions created to serve our great empire in the magitek infantry."

"Created… to serve you?" It feels like a bad dream, except Prompto can't wake up. His voice sounds wrong and his vision blurs as Besithia laughs again.

"Yes, and now you've finally come home to Niflheim, my son," Besithia says.

Prompto's body reacts entirely on its own. He fires the gun into the air, the sharp sound echoing in his ears, though it's not enough to drown out the word as it claws its way under his skin, poisons his insides. _Don't call me that,_ he wants to say. But all he gets out is a quivering, "Shut up!"

 _You're wrong…_ He feels the first sting of a tear down his cheek before he even realizes he's crying, finally losing the last hold he had on the dam keeping everything in. _I'm human._ But he can't find the strength to believe in those words.

When he tries to speak again, his voice comes out too loud, wavers and cracks, pulling all the oxygen out of his lungs. "I am not one of your experiments!"

"Not anymore," Besithia sneers. "Now you're nothing but a failure." His expression shifts into something… Disappointment? Disdain? It's too hard to tell but he eyes Prompto as if he were better off dead and Prompto almost finds himself giving in. A choked sob escapes his lips and he's barely able to keep himself from doubling over. "I ought to return you whence you came. Perhaps then you might serve some useful purpose."

Prompto doesn't notice Besithia has advanced toward him until it's too late, until Besithia is right in front of him and his heart short circuits. "Never!" He shouts, belatedly thrusting the gun up and aiming at Besithia. But Besithia keeps going.

"With your help, my ascension to divinity is now all but complete," he rambles like a madman, his eyes wide with corrupted mirth. "Soon, neither the kings of Lucis nor the gods themselves will be able to challenge my reign!" His voice is distorting, clouding with shadows, and he comes closer, closer, closer.

And Prompto is frozen. Horror washes over him, revulsion mixing with the tainted self perception that has been steadily building all this time in his mind. It keeps him there, weighs his feet down like stone as if there are no other options, nothing left to him but death itself. As if he deserves this. Maybe he does.

Then Besithia's hand brushes Prompto's cheek and everything goes white. A scream is wrenched from his throat and he fires.

Besithia crumples at first, the momentum of the gunshot carrying his body backward, and then there's a hissing sound as his body disintegrates into black smoke before it hits the floor, leaving behind nothing but the clothing he had worn. He's gone in an instant and Prompto is alone, all alone. The gun drops from his hand and clatters to the ground. Prompto falls to his knees.

"Look what you've done…" He hears Ardyn's voice, but he can't tell if it's really there or if his mind has fabricated it to rub it in, to torment him further and convince him just how worthless he truly is. "You've gone homicidal- no, patricidal!" Ardyn taunts him.

"No…" Prompto whimpers.

"You lose your friends and murder your family. Now you've no one left!"

_Wrong!_

Prompto's fists clench tightly as he pounds them against the floor, stiff pain shooting up through his palms and into his arms with the force. "Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!" _He's right_. The thought isn't in his own voice, nor is it Ardyn's. He knows that voice and Gods, he can't take it anymore.

He's so overwhelmed he barely registers the automated voice over the loudspeaker, that announces something about "Daemonification" and "Immortalis," but then everything starts glowing and the floor shakes, ripping Prompto from the recesses of his mind. Panic flares up in his chest, his fight or flight response kicking in and telling him he should run, one part of him attempting to convince him to get out while he still can, while the other part reminds him he's not worth it. He should just die here, so that no one will ever know the truth and he won't bring anymore trouble to anyone.

The ceiling explodes seconds later, and Prompto's line of thought ends abruptly as he watches the corpse of a large daemon crash to the ground in front of him.

It takes him a moment, but he realizes there's a figure on top of the daemon, a familiar figure that Prompto never could have expected to see here of all places.

"Aranea..!" He gasps, can barely believe his eyes as he watches the mercenary leap off the corpse with articulate grace.

"C'mon, up and at 'em, Shortcake," she calls out before she whirls around to face more daemons that have spawned behind her. Prompto gapes after her.

It doesn't stop there, though. A second figure drops down from the hole in the ceiling, rolls along the floor to break his fall,and then Prompto's heart all but stops beating. It's like time has lulled to a pause, the minute hand ticking back and forth on the same number while Prompto wonders if he's dreaming, as he stares at that dark hair, those midnight eyes that lock with his own for the briefest of moments, and then, there's a flash of blue, particles shimmering in the air, and he's right beside Prompto, a jump so fast and sharp he almost bowls Prompto over in the process. "Prompto!" shouts the very voice that has been haunting his every thought, chasing Prompto through the labyrinth of his mind and leading him further into the hell of this facility. But undeniably, it's the voice Prompto has longed to hear more than anything.

"Noct!" Prompto practically squeaks in response.

Gods, he really must dreaming for sure- he has to be, right…? And yet, warm hands are instantly inspecting Prompto's body, checking for injuries with a tenderness that almost brings more tears to his eyes. "Thank the Astrals we found you," Noctis breathes out, his hands moving up to cup Prompto's face, the touch sparking a fluttering in Prompto's chest, a familiar but potent warmth that begins to combat the cold darkness that had settled around his heart. "I was so damn worried, Prom, I...."

 _Worried._ The word stands out starkly as if it had been carved out of the air, etched into Prompto's skin, like a beacon of light where Prompto had been so lost before, mind clouded by the past. He blinks at Noctis and finds that no words will come out, nothing but a weak sigh escaping his lips, but Noctis gazes back at him with a fire in his eyes, the likes of which Prompto has rarely ever seen, burning so brightly Prompto almost forgets where they are and what's happening. He just wants… No, he just needs...

Noctis seems like he's about to say something else, his expression hardening as he opens his mouth, thumbs rubbing along Prompto's cheeks, the warmth spreading from the featherlight touches down to Prompto's chest, outward into his limbs. It renews something in him, whether it's the energy he had expended trying to make it out of this place alive, or the hope that he had scarce allowed himself to cling to, that everything that led up to this moment had truly been built on false pretenses, an image manipulated by a master of illusions. Ardyn had played the both of them for fools, hadn't he?

Noctis begins to lean closer, but before he manages to close any of the distance between them, Aranea's voice snaps them back to the present. "Save the pleasantries," she yells, sharp and urgent, dragging Prompto's gaze to where she's just finished wiping out the daemons in the room. "We've got less than five minutes to make it out of here so get on your feet and get a move on."

Prompto glances back to Noctis, who gives him a sheepish smile, his hands dropping from Prompto's face to Prompto's own, grip steady. "She's right. Can you stand?" He asks softly.

Prompto doesn't trust his voice so he simply nods. Then Noctis rises, pulling Prompto with him, and they're running.

They dodge past daemons and a number of MTs that have activated as they make their way down an adjacent hallway, into the upper level of a new room that is vastly larger than any of the other rooms Prompto has been in before now. It appears to be something like a hangar, but rather than planes, the space is filled with models of magitek armor mechs. Noctis pulls Prompto up to the railing as he glances down to the lower floor, scanning until his eyes land on a snowmobile near the gate that's starting to close. "Down there," Noctis says, his hold on Prompto's hand growing stronger. "We can make it in time."

Before Prompto can even think to say anything, they're moving again, racing past more foes and down a flight of stairs, into the open space below. One of the mechs is active, preparing to face off against them, but Noctis merely leads Prompto past it, pace quickening to avoid the violent gunfire in unleashes on sight. As they approach the snowmobile, Aranea rejoins them, shoving a map into Noctis' hands. "Meet me at the rendezvous point. I'll catch up later."

Prompto wants to protest, fear bubbling in the back of his mind that something horrible could happen to her if she stays to fight alone, but Noctis has already read over the map and put into the pocket of his coat. "Got it," he says, giving Aranea a steady nod. "Don't die."

Aranea returns the nod and the sentiment with an amused chuckle, "No need to worry about me," before she spins back around and whips out her lance, ready to take out the group of daemons in front of her.

Prompto ends up saying nothing, lets Noctis bring him over to the vehicle and seat him on the back while taking his place at the front and starting it up. "Hold on tight," he says.

One second they're still inside and then the next, they're ripped from the dull interior of the building into the blinding white outdoors, the sunlight reflecting off the snow so brightly that all Prompto can do is squint for a while in an attempt to let his eyes adjust. He realizes straight away that he should have heeded Noctis' words when Noctis veers the snowmobile to the left almost immediately, heading for a downward slope that leads away from the building, and the sudden movement jerks Prompto over, nearly sending him flying off. He has no choice but to snake his arms around Noctis' waist to keep from falling. The warmth spreads just a little further, grows just a bit stronger with Prompto's chest up against Noctis' back, where the beat of his heart mixes with Noctis' and keeps him grounded.

Down the slope, Noctis swerves around MTs positioned out in the snow, the infantry firing arrays of bullets at them with surprising inaccuracy, and he navigates through trees and rocky paths as if he could do this with his eyes closed. "Almost in the clear," Prompto hears Noctis say, his voice somehow still crystal clear despite the wind whipping past them, despite Prompto's heart roaring in his ears, despite how softly he had spoken. Prompto has the fleeting thought that he would be able to pick out Noctis' voice no matter the circumstances, even if the entire world tried to drown it out. "Just hold on a little longer."

Prompto can only manage a nod as he clings tighter to Noctis.

After a few more moments, he spots the path opening up a couple hundred feet ahead, the trees thinning as all signs of MTs cease. Noctis steers toward the opening, the vehicle picking up speed, but neither of them realize the slope has a slight incline at the end until it's too late. With a startled grunt, Noctis can do nothing to stop it as the snowmobile hurdles over the edge and plummets down to the ground below. The fall feels both too short and too long, like time has suspended around them, and Prompto's stomach seems to jump up into his throat, cutting off all oxygen to his lungs, sending the blood straight to his head and searing through his chest like hot iron. He can't decide if the acid bubbling in his gut is fear or nerves, both or neither, as he tries to ready himself for the impact. He supposes it doesn't really matter in the end.

The snowmobile hits solid ground, throwing both Noctis and Prompto off with an intense force and Prompto blacks out.

After what feels like an eternity, Prompto opens his eyes. He's on the ground on his back, looking up at the sky, dark blue, purple, starless darkness settling in around him like a suffocating blanket. Is it evening already, he wonders vaguely, reaching his hand up to grasp at nothing, as if he could hold the sky in between his fingers. Slowly, he brings himself to his feet, eyes landing on the corpse of an MT directly in front of him, stretched out in the snow, unmoving, lifeless. Lifeless… Prompto lingers on the word as it flitters through his mind, repetition pulsing in his skull and swelling until he feels like his head will crack open. Lifeless… Like Prompto himself? He was supposed to be just like them… Nothing but an empty shell, built to kill, to harm, to destroy. Is there really any difference, then, between the MTs that Prompto fights… and Prompto? He can almost see himself there on the ground, his skin ripped away to reveal the ugliness underneath, the metal, the darkness seething and swirling around in his insides. _You're not human,_ it seems to whisper. _You're a monster._

Prompto claps his hands over his ears and crouches down, trying to drown out the thoughts, the voice in his head that chants over and over again, a deafening reminder that Prompto is worthless, nothing but trouble, would be better off had he never been born. _Never been created._

Seconds pass, minutes, hours, lifetimes. Prompto wishes he could just put an end to it all. And then he hears footsteps in the snow. Prompto rises again, shaking, turns around and everything is wrong. Noctis stands behind him, but it's not Noctis, it can't be. His narrowed eyes are emotionless, cruel as he gazes at Prompto with unmitigated contempt, like Prompto means nothing to him, not anymore. Prompto wants to say something, anything, wants to scream and cry but his voice is gone, dust in his lungs, coating his throat into silence. He can't breathe, can't think as he reaches out a hand to stop Noctis, who steps closer, closer, sword materializing with clear intent. Except it's not his own hand. Prompto sees the metallic fingers, his palm like aluminum, and he realizes he is the MT, his body mechanical, limbs heavy. And Noctis is here to kill him.

He's running before he knows it, as fast as he can, terror, disgust, misery burning him from the inside out. He hears Noctis pursuing him but he just keeps running. It's all he can do. He always knew it would come down to this. He knew... He was never good enough for Noctis, he never deserved to stand at his side. Who was he kidding, all this time, trying to pretend he belonged, trying to believe the lie that he meant anything to Noctis.

He deserves to die.

Prompto trips and suddenly he's falling into black again.

He awakens for real this time, to hands tightly gripping his shoulders, shaking him, pulling him back to reality from the distorted hallucinations of his mind. When he opens his eyes, Noctis is staring down at him, expression full of concern, his own eyes drowning in fear and worry while Prompto just blinks up at him. Noctis' dark hair, covered by a black hat, is framed by the bright blue of the sky overhead, so beautiful, so breathtaking. He looks like an angel gazing down at Prompto, so close but so out of reach. He's always been too good for Prompto.

Oh.

Prompto is crying. He belatedly notices the tears, hot, searing as they stream down his cheeks, like the torrential downpour of a storm. He lifts his hands, hesitation holding him back for only a moment, and then he's clinging to Noctis' coat, knuckles white as he grips the fabric. Noctis shifts immediately, wraps his arms around Prompto and pulls him closer, and Prompto buries his face against Noctis' chest, his sobs muffled and quiet.

"Please don't hate me…" Prompto whimpers. He hadn't meant to speak, but the words tumble out of his mouth regardless, as if everything had piled up, piled up until he just couldn't take it anymore. It's the first thing he's said since Noctis appeared before him and his voice shakes, so fragile he wonders if Noctis has even heard him. "Please…"

With the way Noctis holds him, his embrace growing stronger, gentle yet firm, his arms keeping Prompto there with him, close, close, so warm… Prompto thinks he must have. Noctis holds him there until his heart slows, until he finds his breath again, until the tears finally stop.

Eventually, Noctis helps Prompto up, back over to the snowmobile, and they begin the trek to the rendezvous point.

 

\---

 

When Noctis and Prompto arrive at the haven, Noctis wants nothing more than to just hold onto Prompto and not let go, to keep him as close as possible. The warmth of his friend in his arms, strong and reassuring, that accompanies the feeling of comfort that flows through his veins, knowing that he had made it in time, and Prompto is, for the most part, safe… It's like a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Like Noctis can finally breathe again. Maybe it's selfish but he wants to cling to that, to let it settle into his aching, tired limbs, until it's undeniable, unquestionable fact, until his body and mind are satisfied, until he can convince himself without a shadow of a doubt that Prompto isn't going anywhere anymore. Prompto is here with him and he's alive, and he wants that knowledge to permeate him to his very core.

But he knows it has to wait.

He gets their camp set up as quick as he can, the fire a welcome heat in the evening chill that accompanies the setting sun. It's still cold of course, but marginally less so with the small flames dancing on the wood and flickering around the dark space, popping embers like the flashing of fireflies. Once they're as comfortably situated as they can manage, Noctis prepares the small amount of food he had brought along, because he knows Prompto definitely needs it. He probably hasn't eaten anything in days and astrals forbid that Noctis lets him go another moment without filling his stomach.

Then again, as Noctis watches Prompto scarf down the food with ravenous abandon, Noctis thinks that Prompto needs a lot of things right now.

Presently, after managing to eat a good portion of the meal Noctis had given him, Prompto is sitting by the fire, staring into it with a detachment that is entirely foreign, unnerving and disconcerting in its newness. Noctis has seen Prompto upset before, has seen him lose his cool, and get angry and frustrated when he's just got too much going on, when he feels utterly hopeless or the self-loathing hits a fever pitch, but this is none of those things. This is Prompto being crushed under the weight of something Noctis can't even begin to fathom. Prompto who's so close to breaking, shattering into a million pieces that Noctis is almost scared to blink because he might open his eyes and the boy beside him will be gone.

It's still so fresh in Noctis' mind. Their fall earlier, when Prompto blacked out after crashing to the ground, and Noctis had been so terrified for several moments that he had lost his friend for good this time despite only just prior reuniting with him. Agonizing minutes passed, that clawed at Noctis' chest and pressed into his heart with unrelenting jabs, the faint thought in the back of his mind that he did this, he hurt Prompto yet again. But then Prompto had started crying, the tears rolling down his cheeks as Noctis kept trying to wake him, and Noctis' heart had twisted painfully in his chest. Relief and guilt. Prompto is okay, but he's not okay, not even close, and Noctis hadn't known what to do. His emotions swirled around inside him, combining into an amalgamate of nothing intelligible beyond the urge, the overwhelming desire to protect Prompto. He had awoken slowly, his eyes going wide as he gazed up at Noctis, full of such an intense vulnerability that the air in Noctis' lungs had been knocked out as effectively as if he had just been slammed to the ground by a daemon. Even then, the sound of Prompto's voice when he spoke had been so soft, so fragile that the apprehension morphed into a palpable physical pain, lancing right through Noctis' heart and almost knocking him to his knees.

"Don't hate me," he had said. As if Noctis ever could.

Whatever this is, Prompto needs to get it out before it eats away at him, before it corrodes everything he's worked for up until now and he succumbs to it. Noctis won't stop until he can clear up the storm clouds hanging over his friend's head, until he can bring back the sun and shine it down on Prompto once more.

He needs to starts somewhere.

"Prompto," he says softly, unconsciously clenching his hands into fists, only noticing when his nails dig into his skin and he has to make an effort to draw them up, rest them on his knees to stop himself. "I'm.. sorry."

Prompto slowly looks up from the fire and meets Noctis' gaze, probing, as if he can't even begin to understand why Noctis would apologize to him in the first place, and it hurts somehow, a sharp twinge in Noctis' chest. "For what?" he asks after a few moments of silence.

"For falling right into Ardyn's trap…" Noctis pauses, heartbeat ringing in his ears. He swallows and then continues. "And… for hurting you like that."

Prompto doesn't respond immediately but something flits across his face, something bordering on familiar, that makes Noctis' heart skip an odd beat. It's so close to home that he could probably forget the whole world around them if Prompto kept looking at him like that. "I know, right?" Prompto finally says, and he's using that voice that he always uses when he's joking, when he wants Noctis to know he's not being serious. "How could you possibly do such a horrible thing- after everything we've been through?" He sighs and his eyes drop back to the fire before he adds more quietly, sincerity replacing the mischief in his tone, "Nah, it's okay. You're not the only one who fell for it."

There's an admission there that Noctis can't miss, something bone deep that Noctis should have, and probably did somewhere in the back of his mind, consider. That Prompto, scared and alone, had really and truly spent his time under Ardyn's captivity surrendering to the belief that Noctis, his best and closest friend, had made the conscious choice to push him off a train.

It's inexcusable.

Gods, Noctis wants to reach out and hold Prompto in his arms until they can both forget this ever happened. Maybe he should, but he stays where he is, watches the flames of the fire dancing in Prompto's dark pupils and thinks. They need to talk this out, he knows they do, that they need to put it all behind them and make sure they're both on the same page again, but the Astrals know words have never been Noctis' strong point. The silence stretches out again, the only sounds that of their breathing mixing with the crackle of fire and wood.

At some point, Noctis takes a deep breath and tries again.

"What are you thinking about right now?" He breaks the quiets again, his voice sounding far too loud in the small space of the cavern around them.

"... Nothing," Prompto responds quietly. He sighs again and shakes his head after a few seconds pass. "Not nothing," he amends.

"Just… I was wondering what I would be doing right now if you weren't here."

"Did you come up with an answer?"  
Prompto laughs slightly, but the sound is hollow, missing the usual warmth that encompasses the sound, and it echoes piercingly around in Noctis' skull. "Probably something rash," he mumbles. His eyes are unfocused as he watches the campfire, something floating at the surface, shimmering in his pupils that Noctis can't quite read. It creeps up like a thin sheet of ice along Noctis' skin, colder than the winter air around them, colder than the snow itself. He wants to melt it all until there's nothing but warmth left. "Maybe I would take one of those sticks and... burn my wrist."  
Noctis suddenly feels like he can't breathe. He's lightheaded, like his mind is clogged with cotton. "Wh- Why? Would you... really go through with it..?"  
"I..." Prompto swallows hard, and his expression shifts suddenly, from the darkness that lingered before into something brighter. It's a small change, but all the same, it breathes air back into Noctis' lungs, begins to thaw the ice as quickly as it had formed. "I don't think so. I think… I would have thought about what you would say to me if I did it, and that would have kept me grounded."

"What I would say?" Noctis repeats, more to himself than anything.

"Yeah. I would probably hear you scolding me in my head, telling me not to do something so stupid," Prompto explains. "And I would know that you were right, even if you weren't there to tell me in person."

Noctis laughs, a small sound that feels warm somehow. "Maybe you're right," he says, giving a soft grin when Prompto looks back over at him. "I don't think I would have said it like that, though."

"Then what would you have said?"

Noctis thinks about it, turns it over in his head as he tries to imagine the situation, sitting beside Prompto at the fire just like this but watching Prompto move to harm himself. _You're too precious to me._ Too much. _You deserve better._ Not enough. He sees himself, grasping Prompto's arm, slowly leaning in and pressing his lips to the skin of Prompto's wrist- and heat immediately pools in his cheeks. Noctis coughs, glances away from Prompto and rubs at the back of his neck. "Doesn't really matter, does it?"

Prompto laughs this time, a fuller sound that rumbles in his chest and vibrates throughout Noctis' body as if he were right beside him. "Nah, I guess not," he says.

The air feels lighter now, not quite so stifling, like the both of them are steadily falling back into place, back into the familiar comfort that always settles around them when they're together, and leaving behind the misty cold of misfortunes suffered at the hands of a cruel man. It's relieving, and there's something strong building in Noctis' chest, something fluttering and pleasant. The cold is all but forgotten, he thinks.

There's still one last thing they need to discuss, however. Noctis hopes that whatever this is, he can help Prompto through it, too. "You mentioned your wrist."

Prompto stiffens slightly, his lips pursing as his gaze shoots to where his coat sleeve is pulled up over the skin. "... Yeah, I did," he says.

"And what about it? Why would you have burned your wrist?" Noctis doesn't want to press too hard, but he also can't let this go, not when he's already come this far. Prompto doesn't say anything right away and Noctis abruptly recalls the events from earlier, when Prompto had woken up in tears and clung to him as if he was going to disappear at any moment, the fear and self-loathing so palpable that Noctis hadn't been able to say anything at the time. Perhaps there had been something there. "Does it have to do with what you said after that fall?" Noctis asks hesitantly. "When you said…. 'please don't hate me.'"

"Did I say that?" Prompto almost grimaces but he manages to turn it into a sheepish grin, as if he either forgot or wanted to pretend he hadn't said it at all. "But… yeah, it does."

Noctis thought as much. "Please tell me."

He patiently waits while Prompto sits there quietly, opens and closes his mouth several times, the words he can't seem to find dying on his tongue before they make it out. His expression is slightly pained, eyebrows knitted, shadows in the depths of his eyes revealing just how hard this is for him, just how much he wants to say it but doesn't know how. And maybe Noctis has had enough of waiting because it only takes another few moments for him to make a move.

He stands and makes his way around the fire to where Prompto is seated, all the while Prompto watches him, confusion now flashing mildly in his pupils. Noctis offers a smile, small but encouraging, and then he positions himself behind Prompto, settling himself down so his chest is pressed up against Prompto's back as he wraps his arms around Prompto and holds him tight. It's notably warmer, warmer than anything else has been all night, and warmer than Noctis has felt in a long time. It feels… right. He can't believe he put this off for as long as he did.

The tips of Prompto's ears are rosy- perhaps not due to the cold, Noctis thinks- and he quickly reciprocates Noctis' touch, leaning back so that his head rests lightly against Noctis' shoulder, so that his back arches against Noctis and one of his hands comes up to rest over Noctis' own. So warm… They stay like that for a while, just soaking in the warmth, long enough that Noctis isn't sure if the heartbeat stuttering between them is his own or Prompto's at this point. And then at last, Prompto speaks, his voice a low hum. "I guess.. it'll be easier if I just.. show you."

He moves his hand from Noctis' and reaches down, slowly pulling back the sleeve of his coat unil his wrist is exposed, pale skin almost shining in the light of the fire. Noctis isn't sure what to expect, has no frame of reference for any of this, so when he spots the markings on Prompto's skin, small, uniform black lines, he draws a blank. "A… bar code?" he says, unconsciously moving to brush his fingers along Prompto's wrist, tracing the lines under his fingertips as if the contact alone will explain it to him. Prompto seems to shiver under Noctis' touch, but he doesn't pull away.

"Yeah. It's because… Because." Prompto hovers on the word, repeats it once more like a broken record and then takes a few deep breaths, like there just isn't enough air in his lungs for what he's trying to say. Noctis keeps waiting, nuzzles affectionately against the side of Prompto's head, and he doesn't release his wrist. He feels like it's important, and he wants Prompto to understand that, even if he's not sure why yet. Prompto sighs, turns his head slightly so he can brush his nose to Noctis' cheek, and then he sighs, a change from this previous gasping breaths. "I'm not… a Lucian. I'm not even…" He sighs again, so heavy, his chest heaving with the effort. "I was created… here. In Niflheim. Like the others."

Noctis takes in the words for what they are, lets them buzz around in his head and then dissipate, and the dark truth that Prompto couldn't bring himself to say is finally laid out in the open. He halfway pictures it, a small infant in a test tube, next to others who look just like him, made to wreak havoc and destroy by a mad scientist hungry for power. But before the image fully forms, it shifts into something warm, familiar and bright, like the morning brings with it the sunlight. It flows in and illuminates the space of his mind, and Noctis sees Prompto, brilliant smiles, bubbling laughter, his dearest and closest friend so far removed from the past that now tries to hold him back. There's not a single connection between the two, nothing that ties together something Prompto never was, and everything he has become.

And unwittingly, Noctis finds himself laughing, a soft and airy sound as he releases Prompto's wrist and reaches up, cups Prompto's face in the palms of his hands. Prompto blinks at him with wide, confused eyes, but there's light in them now, so much light it's almost blinding. "Prom," Noctis says, surprising even himself with the tenderness he hears in his voice. "none of that stuff matters. It's not important where you came from, or whatever else. You've always just been Prompto Argentum, and you always will be. You're just you." It's not exactly eloquent, Noctis knows that, but it's heartfelt and genuine, and he really, truly means it.

"Just… me," Prompto says. The words are filled with so much meaning, heavy and significant, as if Prompto has known this all along and just needed to hear it spoken aloud, to have someone remind him of his own truths to see if for himself. It seems to be the breaking point for him, as well, because one second he's looking into Noctis' eyes like he's the entire world and the next he's sobbing, tears he's probably been holding in all this time finally flowing down his cheeks. Noctis smiles softly at him, wipes at his tears with one hand and rubs comforting circles into his back with the other, while Prompto leans in and buries his face into Noctis' shoulder, his cries muffled and wrought with emotion. He's shaking like a leaf, clinging relentlessly to Noctis, but he feels so alive, so free that Noctis almost feels like crying himself as he holds Prompto close.

Prompto cries for a while, and Noctis lets him, until the tears finally cease and Prompto's breathing becomes more even. He doesn't move at all, just keeps holding Prompto and praying the depths of his feelings will reach Prompto's heart even without words. The cavern is probably growing colder as night settles around them,.but neither of them seem to notice, the world shrunk down to nothing but their embrace.

Now that Prompto is calmer, Noctis finds it in himself to speak again. His voice is barely a whisper as he threads his fingers through the ends of Prompto's hair that poke out from under his hat. "Prom, why were you afraid to tell me about your past?"

"I... don't know," Prompto says equally as quiet, exhaling a small laugh against Noctis' shoulder, feathery and fluttering as it brushes the skin of Noctis' neck. "I guess I was just... so scared that if you knew the truth, you wouldn't want me around anymore. And I could never say no, if you wanted me gone."

Noctis would never want that, they both know that undoubtedly at this point, but that's not what matters right now. This is, and has been since the start, about Prompto. "Where do you want to be?" he deflects, watching the flickering flames in Prompto's eyes, captivating and so warm, dancing with a passion that pulls at Noctis' heart unwaveringly.

Prompto doesn't even have to think about his answer. "With you. Always." His conviction floods through Noctis, overpowering and yet so gentle, so sweet it seems to envelop him in light. And Noctis can't stop himself from beaming back at Prompto, the affection bubbling up and overflowing from his lips.

"Then this is where you belong, Prom," he says, and Gods, does he mean it. He means it with every fiber of his being, and everything he's ever been or will be. He's never been more sure of anything in his life. "Ever at my side." The words seep into every nook and crevice in his body, dissolve into his veins and engulf the steady beat of his heart, thumping under his ribcage as if it's ready to break free from the confines of his chest.

Prompto opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to find what he wants to say, all the while his eyes are brimming with a fondness so strong it nearly bowls Noctis over. It seizes Noctis' heart with an iron grip and before he can really consider what he's doing, he's acting on his earlier thoughts, all previous embarrassment forgotten. He takes Prompto's wrist and brings it slowly up to his lips, pressing them to black lines and flushed skin. Prompto's entire face is red, blush dancing across his freckled cheeks as he watches Noctis kiss his wrist, his mouth now hanging open in a shocked gape, and he's so unbearably cute that Noctis really can't help himself. He leans in and closes the distance between them, capturing Prompto's mouth with his own.

The kiss is something Noctis thinks he's dreamed about for as long as he can remember, though perhaps he didn't quite realize it to its full extent until recently. Glimpses of a young, blossoming attraction back in high school, something fluttering that couldn't quite make it to the surface before they were thrust into this whole mess. Something that only seemed to grow stronger the longer it festered deep in Noctis' chest. And it feels so much better than he ever could have imagined finally acting on it, like everything inside him is blooming, the warmth of a coming spring fighting away any and all last traces of winter. It feels for once like everything will be alright, in the end.

Prompto doesn't hesitate at all to kiss him back immediately, his arms snaking down to wrap tightly around Noctis' waist. He's so warm, so vibrant that Noctis feels like he could melt entirely into Prompto's arms, but he doesn't, and he feels Prompto smiling against his lips. Something about that smile tells Noctis that Prompto has wanted this just as long as he has, and that thought vibrates in his skull as if fireworks are going off behind his eyelids. _A mutual love._

It's not heated or passionate, but just right, pure, unbridled affection shared between them as their mouth move together and they hold each other like they have all the time in the world.

They kiss for a while like that, forgetting anything outside of each other, but slowly, the kisses become more and more languid until they slow to a stop and Prompto rests his head against Noctis' chest, his breath matching the rise and fall, the rhythm of Noctis' own breathing. Noctis is perfectly content, traces circles into Prompto's back and lets himself revel in the feeling of this moment. A moment completely of their own choice, allowing nothing to hold them back anymore. Noctis wouldn't trade this feeling for anything.

Neither of them make to move when they hear the click of heels along the ground or the clearing of a throat as they're discovered. "Wow, PDA? With the prince? Guess I walked in on quite the scandal, huh," Aranea says.

Prompto snorts. "You're just jealous that I get to cuddle with the prince and you don't," he says, sticking his tongue out and snuggling closer to Noctis.

"Yeah, right." Noctis can practically hear her rolling her eyes but when he shifts so he can get a look at her, her expression is barely incredulous, her eyebrows raised and a hand on her hip as she gazes at the two of them with an unmistakable smile on her lips. "I think I would rather leave the cuddling to you, Shortcake." She makes her way over to the fire and sits across from them, adding after a brief pause with crystal clear sincerity, "For real, though. You both look a lot better than earlier. I'm really glad you guys seemed to have worked through your shit."

"Thanks," Noctis responds quietly. He cards his fingers through the ends of Prompto's hair again and lets out a contented sigh. "...Me too."

Aranea's smile grows softer. "You know, I was worried I would get here and have to give the both of you a pep talk but it looks like I was wrong. Not that I'm complaining."

"You could still give us a pep talk," Prompto says. He moves only so he can give Aranea puppy dog eyes and she laughs, waving a hand dismissively in his direction.

"What could I even say that you haven't already figured out yourselves? Just- follow your heart and stuff. Think about what it is that you want to do and do it." Noctis relates to her level of eloquence.

"What if I want to kiss Noct?" Prompto says.

Noctis flushes involuntarily and Aranea wheezes. "Please save the kissing for when I'm not present!" Prompto's cheeky laughter floods through Noctis, bringing with it a new wave of comforting warmth that makes Noctis feel a little light headed and a lot like he really wouldn't mind if Prompto kissed him again right now.

Aranea helps herself to the food that Noctis had brought and they chat while she eats, pleasant conversation passing easily between the three of them. Aranea seems exceedingly to enjoy teasing them, and she delights in sharing with Prompto just how distraught Noctis has been before they had decided to come rescue him. Noctis is almost embarrassed, cheeks beginning to go rosy again, but the genuine gratitude that shines in Prompto's eyes steadies him and erases the unnecessary shame while at the same time, effectively knocks all the air from his lungs in one fell swoop. When Prompto looks at him like that, Noctis thinks he really has no regrets at all and Prompto deserves to know just how much Noctis had missed him.

After she finishes her meal, Aranea rekindles the fire and then settles back into place before she addresses Noctis once more. "You remember what else we came here for, right?"

"Yeah," Noctis says, narrowing his eyes. "How could I forget?"

"What's that?" Prompto questions sleepily. It seems that the exhaustion of his ordeal is finally starting to set in and he's currently attempting to stay awake in Noctis' lap while his eyelids continuously droop.

"The empire is working on a new model and we're going after it. Can't leave that thing alone when we've already seen what they're capable of," Aranea explains. "You wanna come with?"

"Of course." Despite his tired state, there's no delay for Prompto's answer.

"You sure you can handle it?" Noctis can't help worrying, knowing that Prompto has been through so much already over the last several days, his concern bubbling up into a need to pull Prompto closer, to lean in and bury his face into the crook of Prompto's neck which he readily acts on.

Prompto hums his affirmation, the sensation buzzing in Noctis's chest and cementing Prompto's unwavering conviction in his heart while Prompto's hands rest on the small of his back and he softly nuzzles the side of Noctis' head. "You bet. I'll prove it."

"Perfect," Aranea grins. "We'll head out at dawn."

At Aranea's urging, on top of the fact that Prompto is already at least half asleep, the three of them clamber into sleeping bags for the night. Noctis had brought one for each of them but rather than attempt to detach Prompto from himself, he just maneuvers them both into one, his chest pressed up against Prompto's back while he wraps one arm around Prompto's waist. Prompto instantly curls right up against him and lets out a sigh of satisfaction. Being like this with Prompto makes Noctis feel so safe and warm that sleep quickly begins to fog his mind, but there's one last important thought before he drifts off, one thing he wants to share.

"Hey, Prom," he whispers, his voice ghosting the back of Prompto's neck as he leans in closer. "Once this is all over, I say we break down the borders- come together as one nation. I mean, what does it matter where anyone's from anyway?"

Prompto doesn't respond right away and Noctis wonders if perhaps he had already fallen asleep, but then he shifts and one of his hands finds Noctis', fingers lacing between his with a gentle squeeze.

"Y'know, I never thought I'd say this, but you sounded like a real king for a second." His voice is slurred with sleep but the sentiment brings a tinge of pink to Noctis' cheeks all the same, and it makes Noctis absolutely certain that he's made the right choice.

"Better late than never…" He jokes lightly. He places a kiss at the base of Prompto's neck and closes his eyes. "I'm going to make this world a better place. You with me?"

This time, there's no pause before Prompto responds with all the affection in the world. "Uh-huh. Ever at your side."


End file.
